


Of Sleepy Time Rituals and Their Repercussions

by imma_redshirt



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Fluff, M/M, drowsy tea, i think
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 15:07:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5421602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imma_redshirt/pseuds/imma_redshirt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After drinking tea with strong side effects, McCoy kisses Spock on the cheek, and causes two days of awkwardness between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Sleepy Time Rituals and Their Repercussions

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo, I know I should be working on updates for certain other stories, but I found this old thing in the recesses of my files and really wanted to post it up before I forget about it again, so. Yeah.
> 
> Disclaimer: If I owned Star Trek, you think I'd have let Abrams get away with giving McCoy so little screen time? 
> 
> ...the answer is no. No. I own nothing.

It happened exactly four days after becoming stranded on a planet with Doctor McCoy. For over 90 hours, he and Spock had been working on a cure for a steadily moving epidemic that had recently worked it’s way through the planet’s population. The people of Nehenge VI had known of the Enterprise’s much celebrated doctor and his expertise in a number of areas, and had extended a desperate plea for McCoy’s assistance in curing their ailing communities. 

Spock had beamed down with the Captain, and the doctor had followed with his medical team. 45.5 minutes afterwards, however, the _Enterprise_ contacted Kirk with news of a distress signal from the _USS Gallant_. A short but intense battle with Klingons had left the ship severely damaged, and a number of crewmembers injured. 

Caught between two dire situations, the senior crew of the _Enterprise_ had immediately come up with this decision: Doctor McCoy and Mr. Spock would remain on Nehenge VI with two Enterprise nurses to continue the development and administering of a cure, while the Captain and the rest of the medical team returned to the ship to begin the 19 hour journey to reach the _USS Gallant_ , where they would transfer the surviving crew to the nearest starbase.

If everything went according to plan, and the _Enterprise_ did not enter battle with any revenge seeking Klingon ships, Kirk would return in six days time, by which time McCoy and Spock would have developed a cure.

Initially, Spock had calculated the chance at successfully finding a cure at 67.897%. But 93 hours after the _Enterprise’s_ departure, Spock’s calculations had fluctuated, and was now at an even but unfortunate 42%.

They had only recently discovered that the debilitating illnesses affecting much of Nehenge’s populace were symptoms of an age old virus that had spent years mutating in the deepest and most isolated areas of the planet’s swamps. As society grew and expanded, and developers had moved deeper into their surrounding environments, the virus had found fresh bodies to infect, and traveled from its reclusive home to breed in a population that had not seen its like in generations.

The only information the government had on the original virus had been decades old and printed on papers that were now yellowed and flimsy with age. Now, 93 hours after examining their first subject, the Enterprise crew had resorted to pouring over the relics for any clues that may help them develop a new cure for the virus that had festered and evolved away from prying eyes.

The lodgings that Nehenge’s government had provided was a two story building, with a kitchen and sitting room on the ground floor, and personal living quarters above. The Enterprise crew was there now, having been evicted from the nearby medical facility in observance of the local religion that prohibited any living body in government buildings after the sun went down. A frustrated McCoy had carried his research into their lodgings, spread it across the kitchen table and two kitchen counters, and buried himself once again in the same papers he had spent most of the day studying. 

It had now been 10 hours since the doctor had eaten anything other than a protein bar, and 36 hours since he had spent more than five minutes resting. 

He had sent his nurses away to get a few hours sleep, but Doctor McCoy being Doctor McCoy, had neglected to order himself to do the same.

He had also ordered Spock away three times, but they both knew his efforts there were useless. 

Ten minutes ago, Spock had left his seat by McCoy’s side and made his way through the kitchen’s pantry. While McCoy, who had barely been aware of Spock’s absence, continued to shuffle through an 80 year old study on the original virus, Spock busied himself on the small counter next to the gas stove, the only two clear surfaces left in the kitchen.

At the sound of a plate being set down next to him, McCoy looked up and raised an eyebrow.

“What’s this?”

“A sandwich, Doctor,” Spock said, only slightly teasing in stating the obvious.

McCoy arched both his eyebrows. “YOU made me a sandwich, Spock?”

“I did,” Spock said. He clasped his hands behind his back. “You have insisted upon surviving off of oat and berry bars, though you order your nurses to ‘eat a proper meal rather than those cardboard sticks.’ You have also forced Nehenge’s deplorable vegetable smoothies upon myself. It is only fair you follow your own advice, Doctor.”

McCoy snorted, but picked the thick sandwich up anyway. He lifted the top slice of wheat product that was very similar to the dry wheat bread of Earth and peered inside. By his grimace, the mixture of vegetables that varied from dark green to burnt orange and topped with a pale lavender spread did not seem appetizing. The combination was quite popular across the planet.

“The spread provides the necessary protein,” Spock said. “Did you not order myself to add it to my vegetable smoothie?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” McCoy lied, and after another grimace, bit into the sandwich.

Spock watched McCoy chew. After a moment, the doctor swallowed and nodded approvingly.

“Well, I wouldn’t suggest you quit your day job and become a chef, but that wasn’t too bad.”

“Such a thought would never cross my mind,” Spock said, and turned back to the stove. The sound of shuffling papers sounded behind him soon after. 

He pulled a kettle from the overhead shelf and filled it with water. After setting it atop a low fire, he turned back to the table. McCoy bit into what was left of the sandwich and flipped through a pile of faded papers. Seemingly unaware that he had an audience, he sucked absently at the tip of his thumb and cleaned it of lavender specks from the sandwich, eyes narrowed on the folded paper in his hand. 

Since they had begun looking through the documents, McCoy had run a frustrated hand through his hair once every 15 minutes, leaving his brown hair mussed above a furrowed brow. Every so often, he rolled his shoulders and dug a knuckle into the muscles of his back. Presently, the doctor was pressing a fingertip into the pressure point above his right eye.

Decided, Spock turned back to the shelf and pulled two short, ceramic mugs, and a sapphire-blue tin box. Setting the mugs aside, he popped open the tin lid. Inside was a pile of pale blue leaves, each crisp bud curled in on itself as was usual for leaves that had been dried under a hot sun. He pinched a small amount between two fingers and sprinkled it into one mug, then added the same amount to the second mug. The kettle whistled, and Spock poured a good amount of steaming water into each mug.

Before the _Enterprise_ crew had been evicted from the local hospital, Spock had had the opportunity to speak with the head herbalist, a small woman who dressed in browns and greens and who seemed to carry a cloud of earthy fragrances around her. She had shared all that she could about the planet’s known herbs and natural resources that might help them in their race for a cure, and one plant she had mentioned had piqued Spock’s interest. Not because it had potential for a cure, but because it would be a great help in another predicament he knew he would face soon.

The water had turned a pale blue not unlike the shade of his own uniform. He returned to McCoy’s side, took the empty plate, and set down a steaming mug.

Once again McCoy raised an eyebrow in slow surprise. Spock took a seat next to him, his own warm mug cupped in his hands, and raised an eyebrow in response.

“Doctor?”

“I’m not sure what’s going on here,” McCoy said, surprise turning to concern. He frowned. “You’re not experiencing any symptoms, are you?”

Spock tilted his head. “None that I am aware of. Why do you ask?”

McCoy narrowed his eyes. “Spock. You made me a sandwich and made sure I ate it. Now you’ve gone and made me a hot drink. I almost feel a mother henning coming on, which is unusual enough of you to cause worry.”

Spock took a sip of his drink. “There is no cause for worry. I wouldn’t dare to attempt what you yourself excel at.”

Before the doctor could come up with an angry retort, Spock set his mug down and clasped his hands together. “I am only concerned for my colleague's wellbeing, and the outcome of our endeavors. I would rather you not miss any crucial details due to hunger or illness.”

McCoy snorted and picked his mug up. “That sounds like the green blooded Vulcan I know.”

He lifted the mug to his lips, hands cupped around the warm base, then paused before taking a sip. He sniffed it, frowned, and narrowed his eyes at Spock over the rim. “This isn’t coffee.”

“No.” Spock lifted his own mug and sipped. “It is a tea popular amongst the Nehenge population. The leaves are harvested by locals from a blue shrub beneath full moons.”

“Hm.”

“After the leaves are dried over three days, they are combined with the petals of a rare blue flower.”

McCoy examined the blue liquid. “These people are rather fond of blue, aren’t they?”

“Indeed. You did notice their fascination over our uniforms?”

“Yeah, I did. Had a few compliments over my eyes, too.”

Spock arched an eyebrow at McCoy’s smug grin. “In the Nehenge culture, blue is associated with relaxation and tranquility. The ingredients in this blend help one’s mind and body ease into a period of rest.”

For a moment, McCoy gaped at his commanding officer, mug raised halfway to his dropped jaw. With a scowl, he plonked the mug down.

“Are you tellin’ me you’ve just given me this planet’s version of Sleepy Time Tea?” 

Spock twitched an eyebrow. “A weak comparison, but yes.”

“Spock, what’s gotten into that Vulcan brain of yours? I am halfway to finding a cure for these people! I don’t need any relaxation, I need information! I can’t sleep now!”

He broke off with a jaw cracking yawn.

He wiped furiously at his eyes and glared. “I was about to make a breakthrough!”

“Were you, Doctor?”

McCoy pursed his lips. “Who’s to say I wasn’t?”

Spock took and released a breath that some might possibly consider a sigh, had it not been from one with Vulcan blood. “Doctor McCoy. You last slept over 30 hours ago. I am sure the people of Nehenge VI appreciate your efforts, but as none of them are close to death as of yet, I am certain they will not hold it against you if you take a few hours to rest.”

“It doesn’t matter if they hold anythin’ against me, I can’t just--”

“Leonard,” Spock said, halting the doctor’s speech. “Is it not possible that loss of sleep might hinder your research?”

McCoy had stared at Spock’s eyes at the utterance of his first name and hadn’t looked away. Even as Spock waited for a response, the blue eyes did not wander.

After a moment, he looked away and muttered, “Fine.” He looked up again. “If I’m gonna rest, then you are, too.”

Spock lifted his mug. “Indeed.”

With a short _tsk_ , McCoy took his mug and glared at its contents. After a moment, and a quick glance at Spock, he took a small sip.

He licked his lips and sipped again. “...Alright. This isn’t bad. Got a sweet twang to it. Did you add sugar?”

“I did not.”

Sip. “Shoulda added sugar.”

“I don’t believe sugar would be necessary before sleep.”

Another, longer sip. “What, Vulcans don’t give their kids warm milk and a cookie before bed?”

“Obviously a very human tradition. And we are not children, Doctor McCoy.”

McCoy mumbled into his mug and took a long, slow drink.

Despite Spock’s initial thoughts, McCoy did not continue to look through the documents as he drank. Instead, the doctor seemed to relax into his chair by increments, gradually sinking further into its confines, shoulders losing their tense appearance. Before long, McCoy was slumped in the chair, holding the now empty mug against his chest, eyes only half open.

“Well,” he drawled as Spock set his own empty mug on the table. “That wasn’t half bad. Better than Sleepy Time Tea by a mile.”

He lifted his mug again, and when no tea met his lips, he muttered a despondent “aw.”

“I suggest,” Spock began, getting to his feet, “You return to your room to sleep, Leonard.”

“Yeah,” McCoy agreed, and got slowly to his feet. He paused before Spock could lead the way and narrowed his eyes once again at the Vulcan. “But you’re gonna get rest, too, right?”

“I will,” Spock assured him. In his case, rest meant 3 hours of meditation and a quick shower before returning to work. McCoy knew this, so he expected the doctor to order he sleep for a few hours in addition to meditating. But McCoy just yawned into his hand and nodded.

Together, the two officers made their way up the staircase by the front entrance. Half way up, McCoy swayed and leaned into Spock’s side to keep from falling over. Spock found himself with an armful of yawning doctor, one hand settled on McCoy’s hip to steady him. 

“Sorry,” McCoy mumbled.

After McCoy straightened himself, Spock let his hand hover just beside the human’s waist, as a precaution should the doctor tumble back. 

His side tingled. He realized with interest that the peculiar sensation was remnants of the feel of McCoy against him. The doctor was very warm and, oddly, soft.

“--to work as soon as I get up,” McCoy said, and Spock pulled his gaze from his hand, which had brushed the surface of McCoy’s shirt. He retracted it immediately. Doctor McCoy had been speaking since he’d fallen against Spock, and Spock had not registered a single word.

His eyes felt dry. As they reached the top of the stairs, McCoy yawned, and Spock had the sudden urge to copy him.

Interesting. He had not expected the tea to have a strong effect on himself. 

They passed Nurses Green’s and Quintanilla’s rooms. Spock steered the doctor in the right direction towards his room, which was right across from Spock’s. He propped McCoy up against the wall and slowly tapped the security code into the room’s keypad.

The tea should not have had such an effect on him. After the herbalist had introduced it to him, he had scanned it with his tricorder and discovered that its chemical makeup had all the necessary combinations to help fatigued humans ease into a state of rest, much like McCoy’s “Sleepy Time Tea,” but with stronger effects. His own hybrid system should have had only a miniscule reaction in comparison.

Clearly, if he was unable to focus on McCoy’s words and had instead focused on the warm skin that had only been mere inches from his hovering hand, then he had miscalculated. 

Which was most likely why he was unable to react properly to what happened next.

The door swung open to reveal a dark, cool room. McCoy’s bed sat near the open window in a ray of pale moonlight. Spock wondered if his own bed was awash in the same blue illumination.

“Spock,” McCoy began. He rubbed his eyes and blinked blearily up at the Vulcan. “Thanks for everything. The sandwich and the tea--which, I guess, maybe I did need. I am too damn tired to get anything else done.”

“Obviously, doctor, if you are admitting defeat without your usual denial,” Spock said, clasping his hands behind his back and looking away from the doctor’s blue eyes.

McCoy snorted. There was a moment of silence before he said, “You’re really a big ol’ softie, aintcha? For a green blooded…” He yawned and leaned against the doorframe. “Vulcan.”

Spock was unable to counter with a comment on the doctor’s own personality, for in the next moment, McCoy rocked forward on his heels and pressed a kiss to Spock’s left cheek. 

His hands rested lightly against Spock’s stiff shoulders.

The kiss lasted for less than a second, but the sensation lingered after McCoy leaned back and murmured “G’night, Spock,” before stumbling to his bed.

Spock watched McCoy strip off his science blues and collapse into bed under the light from the window, still clad in his undershirt and uniform trousers. When the doctor made a half hearted attempt to toe off his boots, Spock shut the door and retreated into his own room.

His cheek tingled. A completely illogical but no less fascinating reaction. Meditation would allow him to purge both the curious sensation and his fascination with it.

Instead, he found himself lying back in bed,having removed his shirt and boots as soon as he sat down. 

Very well. If his body demanded sleep, he would allow it, if only because he knew it would be fruitless to fight against the effects of the tea.

He would have to speak with the herbalist again tomorrow. Surely, McCoy should not have had such strong reaction to the tea. His inhibitions had clearly been fast victims to its effects.

Under normal circumstances, he would never have… “pecked” Spock on the cheek. The doctor was famously a sentimental and affectionate man, but even he had his limits.

Spock’s actions today--bringing McCoy a meal, brewing him tea, showing concern for the doctor’s well being--combined with the domestic setting around them must have elicited the reaction from the tired human mind, an action that McCoy most likely considered a meaningless ritual. Spock knew that on Earth, it was common for some parents to kiss their young children on the cheek or brow before bed. Spock’s own mother had kissed him goodnight when he was a child. 

But he and the doctor were adults.

Spock also knew that such signs of affection were shared amongst some human partners. 

It could have been a side effect of the tea, but he felt an odd swoop in his gut at that realization.

He was well aware of his fondness for the doctor, which had started as an absent thought in the back of his mind through the years until it grew to be so demanding of his attention that he often used meditation to control it.

Could the kiss have been evidence of the possibility that Leonard shared even a fraction of that same fondness?

And, if that was the case, under what circumstances would he do it again?

The light from the full moon fell over Spock through the window. He touched a hand to his cheek. His mind wandered from the motivation behind Leonard’s impulsive action, to demanding answers of the herbalist, then to the lingering sensation of the kiss, the feel of McCoy’s hands on his shoulders and of his body pressed against his own. 

They were his last thoughts as his fingers slid from his cheek, and sleep took him.

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, I have no beta, so please let me know if there are any mistakes or if anything sounds confusing! Especially those numbers. Numbers hate me.


End file.
